


Jail Break

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm was out of sickbay rather quickly during 3.20 "The Forgotten," wasn't he? What might have happened during that time. (06/07/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Something to get my mind off of the angsty happenings in my story 'The People Who Survive'. Okay, the actual characters of Schlosser and Webster are not actually this stupid or insane. They do, however, know how to pick locks, watch far too many movies, create general mayhem and are Reed's seconds (in my mind). Julia, on the other hand, really is this scary.  


* * *

Malcolm Reed wanted out of sickbay and he wanted out now. He felt better, his body temperature had gone down, and he really needed to get back to his post. But he didn't see a way to get out. Doctors Phlox and Bashir (the young female Israeli-American surgeon had been brought aboard before they left for the Expanse and had obviously been warned about him) had really outdone themselves, this time, to keep him there, he thought, looking at his ankle.

Suddenly, two heads popped around the corner and looked through the sickbay doors. Both had dark brown hair and pale, fair skin. The shoulders that belonged to each head were identical down to the piping and rank insignia, though one was smaller and wirier than the other. The smaller one had bright blue eyes, while the slightly bigger one had brown.

They both suddenly disappeared and then reappeared, with the rest of their bodies. They walked into sickbay. The blue eyed one was smaller than the brown eyed one by about a head. They grinned at Reed and sat down in chairs next to Reed. The two lieutenant J.G.'s usually could pass for brothers, but that was until they spoke.

"How are you feeling?" asked the brown eyed man. His voice was English accented with a little bit of German. The blue eyed one nodded; his attention, however, was riveted on Reed's ankle.

"Fine, Mr. Schlosser, Mr. Webster," Reed said. Fritz Schlosser, the brown eyed German, looked at Reed's ankle, did a double take, and burst out laughing. Reed glowered at Schlosser. "It's not funny, Fritz."

Schlosser, however, could not make a witty retort as he was too busy laughing. David Webster was not under this predicament and was free to make jokes. "Why are you handcuffed-or foot cuffed, shall we say, to the biobed?" asked Webster. His voice, unlike Schlosser's, was very American.

"Doctors Bashir and Phlox decided they needed to keep me here." And that was all Malcolm Reed was going to say on the subject. He refused, point blank, to tell them exactly how they were able to get him cuffed down. Schlosser had stopped laughing at this point and looked at Reed sympathetically. Webster did the same.

"How about I open negotiations with our dear doctors for you?" Schlosser asked. Webster nodded. "We need you back. And if not..." Schlosser and Webster shared a significant look which Reed was not at all ashamed to admit frightened him. He had known those two lunatics for quite some time and knew what they were capable of. He hadn't made them his second in commands of the Armoury for nothing.

Suddenly, both of them stood up. Schlosser said something along the lines of "Break it and I kill you" and handed something off to Webster, who took it and went down near Reed's ankles. He held it gently, taking the threat and all that it could mean into consideration. As Reed himself couldn't tell what it was, he was worried. He didn't like Webster to be around him, holding something that Reed didn't know what it could do.

Schlosser then squared his shoulders and strode into the office of the good doctors. Five minutes later, the irrevocably scary Lt. Doctor Julia Bashir was all but manhandling Schlosser out of the office. This was impressive to say the least, as Bashir was a good six inches shorter and around fifty pounds lighter than Schlosser. Webster, who had been doing something at Reed's feet, obviously knew what battles could be won, what battles should be saved for another day, and what battles you needed to hightail your ass out of. He evidently felt that this was one of the 'hightail your ass out of' battles, at least judging by the height in which he leapt out of his chair and the speed he had when he hit the ground running.

Bashir all but tossed Schlosser out of sickbay. Schlosser made a remarkable fast dash around the corner. Then there were two consecutive bangs, cries of "goddammit" and "fuck", and then silence. Reed and Bashir watched the door for a moment before there was a shout of "we're okay" and then the shuffling of feet. Bashir turned and looked at Reed. Reed looked at Bashir. She was actually very beautiful-and then Reed cut that line of thought when he realized (for the sixth time in as many minutes) that this was obviously a woman to be feared.

"Do you like taking advantage of poor, wounded men?"

"Why do you think I became a doctor in Starfleet?"

Pause. She came over to his bed and pressed a button. Reed felt something entering his system. Something unwelcome.

Damn. She'd done it to him again.

"You're pretty." The drugs were obviously taking hold.

"Thank you."

Pause.

"I could jump you right now." The drugs had definitely taken hold.

"I could kill you right now."

And that was when Malcolm Reed's sanity packed its bags and decided Bombay was very nice this time of year.

"My idea's more fun."

* * *

There comes a time in every sickbay stay when one decides that if one must stay for a minute longer in that goddamn place, one will attempt to kill oneself. Reed's time came about an hour ago, when he decided that there was a possibility that he could maybe kill himself with his lunch tray, if he held it right. This resulted in a rather fierce power struggle with Doctor Bashir over the lunch tray. Reed was now sulking on his biobed. Bashir, deciding that she needed to keep an eye on him, was in an adjacent biobed, reading a book. She sighed and put the book down.

"You know, if you just behaved, none of us would be in this position."

"You know, if you just let me out of this goddamn place, I wouldn't have tried to take my life with a bloody lunch tray and both of us would be happy!"

Bashir sighed. She had been warned about him on coming onto the Enterprise. She thought maybe she could get through to him after Phlox had explained Reed's vastly troubled psychoses. She was quickly realizing she had made a terrible mistake. Suddenly, there was a strangled noise.

She looked up to see Reed attempting to strangle himself with his bed sheet. She sighed again. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

After long negotiations, Bashir and Reed had reached an understanding ("Try it again, and you don't get out of here for a month. Am I clear?" "Yes, ma'am. Crystal, ma'am."). Reed was no longer sulking, at least, not as badly, and Bashir had retreated to her office. Suddenly, Bashir, Phlox, and all of the medical staff were called away. Reed was left with explicit directions not to move. As he was already frightened by the threat of staying for a month, he decided staying was a good option (wasn't like he could get up, anyway; he was still chained by his foot).

As Reed lay on the biobed, he heard a rather disturbing squeaking noise. He looked at the sickbay doors to see Lieutenant Webster coming through, dressed in sickbay regulation clothing and riding in some sort of bastardized wheelchair, pulling another behind him. Said bastardized wheelchair could really only be described as a bastardized wheelchair or as a chair with wheels welded on to it (also with a little sign that said 'Mssrs. Schlosser and Webster Designs').

"Get in," Webster advised. Reed looked at Webster.

"Can't," he said. "Bashir'll kill me."

"No she won't." Webster seemed very sure of this. "She can't. All that 'Hippocratic Oath' business."

Reed liked Webster's logic. But there was still one more problem. "Chained."

Webster seemed ready for this. With a flourish, he whipped out a little silver case and rolled down to Reed's feet. He opened the case and pulled out a silver pick and began to pick the lock. "They're Fritz's. He gave 'em to me to work on the lock earlier."

"So that's what you were doing." And the world seemed brighter.

"Yep. Couldn't finish 'cause Bashir. Scary lady."

Reed agreed whole-heartedly. Soon, Webster had freed Reed and they were off in the bastardized wheelchairs. However, Reed realized something.

"Aren't they going to notice us?"

A familiar voice suddenly came over the internal communications of the ship and began giving out notices. "Captain Archer to Bridge, Commander Tucker to Bridge, Major Hayes to Security..." The list went on for quite a bit.

Webster looked suspiciously proud. "We've got every route blocked except for one; it's like the 'Italian Job'!"

"You two shouldn't be allowed to watch movies; it just serves to give you bad ideas that could lead to potential disaster and bodily, not to mention psychological, injury to others, as well as yourselves."

Apparently, Webster did not take to this well. "Hey, we learned our lesson from the whole Richard Sharpe thing."

"Not that one."

"The 'Snatch' fiasco?"

"No."

"'Doctor Zhivago'?"

"No."

"That movie with subtitles?"

"No, not that one."

"'The Little Mermaid'?"

There was moment of silence, only broken by the squeaking wheel, as important information made its way through Reed's brain. "What the hell could you two have done with 'The Little Mermaid'?"

"You don't want to know."

"No, I believe I do not."

"'Star Wars'?"

"No."

"'Doctor Who'?"

"No...actually, I'm not sure I even know about that one."

Webster apparently did not want him to know and changed the subject.

"That movie on Abba?"

"Yes." Reed did not like Abba, let alone the movie on them. "I don't think I've fully recovered from you two's rendition of 'Fernando'-and please, for the love of God, don't sing."

Webster, who had had his mouth open, snapped it shut, looking rather like a petulant child. Suddenly, there was another rather disturbing squeaking noise. It seemed that Schlosser had joined them. They nodded greetings and continued to wheel themselves to their destination, Schlosser's and Webster's joint quarters.

A few minutes later, they reached the door. As said, they encountered no resistance on the journey. Schlosser keyed open the door and the three escapees (because Reed was sure those two must've broken out of their mental wards and a prison or two during their lifetimes) wheeled themselves in. Reed was rather frightened that the two of them had little Lego ramps built for the wheel chairs. The residents shrugged and began to amuse themselves by popping wheelies off the ramp. Reed wheeled himself into the bathroom (he'd grown used to the chair) where a change of clothes was waiting for him.

After a few moments of Webster and Schlosser acting like two year olds and laughing when each other fell, the door opened. Both were relieved when the person in the door wasn't Doctor Bashir but were slightly frightened that it was Commander Tucker. He looked stern.

"Alrigh', who let yew two hoodlums out of yer cages?"

Webster began the explanation. "Commander, they were treating him horribly and—"

In a way much reminiscent of twins, Schlosser cut him off and finished his sentence. "He was chained to the biobed with hand—"

"Cuffs! We don't even want to speculate—"

"As to where they got them."

Tucker appeared to have been doing some thinking. "Yew know, Phlox seems like the kind of fella who'd—"

Webster apparently didn't want to know how the sentence ended as he slapped his hands over his ears and began crying, "Nonononononono! Lalalalalala! Can't hear you! Lalalalalala!

"Mr. Schlosser?"

He was a different matter. His face had gone very, very pale and his eyes were wide. He stuttered out, "Mind finished your sentence. And added pictures."

Reed, at this point, was intrigued by the screaming of complete and utter horror and had come out of the bathroom. He looked at Schlosser, then Webster, then Tucker. "What have you done to my seconds? I've spent years breaking those bastards in and..." Reed ended his own tirade and asked again. "What have you done to my seconds?"

"We were talkin' 'bout the handcuffs and I commented that Phlox seems like the kind of fella who'd—" Reed knew where that sentence was going to go as well, apparently. "What the hell are you trying to do, man?! Horrify us to death?!" At this point, Schlosser's troubled mind had advanced to full blown hallucinations and he was now screaming for bleach with which to scour his eyes.

Tucker decided now was the time to get out of there. "Uh, Cap'n needs yew on the bridge, Malcolm. Then I suspect ya're gonna get a talkin' to 'bout yer little jail break."

Reed sighed and left the room, knowing his fate and leaving Schlosser and Webster to their horrified images. He should really see about getting them some counseling. Tucker called after him.

"What?"

"Do ya think yew should...?" Tucker made some hand gestures.

"Um, right. Probably shouldn't report to the bridge in the wheel chair."


End file.
